


These fingers

by HappyCamper27



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Implied abuse, Pianist!Harry - Freeform, Slow Build, dark themes, drabble-fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:56:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyCamper27/pseuds/HappyCamper27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>will play an aria of hope. And as you laugh, I will join you—and the world will be brought together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Music is a true art

It was when Harry was seven that he discovered the joy of music.

He had been hiding from Dudley after school, and had stumbled into a room filled to the brim with strange looking… _things_ hung on the walls, or placed carefully on the floor.

He hid in the corner, hoping beyond hope that Dudley wouldn’t see him if the overweight boy looked into the room. He heard heavy footsteps come up to the door, and he tensed. The footsteps paused, before continuing on, like nothing had ever happened.

Harry waited for a good five minutes, wondering if he was really safe. He didn’t put it beyond his stupid cousin to do something so horrible as trick him into believing himself safe. Eventually, he uncurled and looked around the room.

The strange looking things caught his interest, but one in particular drew him in. It was large and black, gleaming in the sunlight from the window. He sidled up to the bench that sat in front of the glowing white keys and reached for them before freezing. He didn’t want to break it—he would definitely be punished, very badly, for that. Uncle Vernon would probably lock him in his cupboard for a month if he did. He shuddered at the possibility.

“Would you like to play?”

The voice startled him. He whipped around, only to be greeted by the smiling face of one of the teachers. He stared at her, wide-eyed.

“It’s alright, you know,” she said lightly. “Here!” she sat on the bench, patting the spot beside her. “Sit, and we can play something!”

He sat down hesitantly, his short legs dangling above the floor.

“What would you like to play?” she asked. He shook his head, biting his lip and looking away. “Hm. How about Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star?” despite the fact that he didn’t answer, she began to play, her fingers pressing the white keys.

Harry found himself captured by the sounds drawn from the instrument, watching in awe.

“Here, you try!” she cajoled, gently placing his right hand on the keys. “Just follow along!”

And together, they slowly plinked out the simple tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

As Harry left that room, with the teacher—Miss Lissa—making him promise to come back tomorrow after school, he thought about the sounds that had come from that incredible instrument. It still awed him, that a freak like him could draw such incredible sound from something so beautiful.

Harry vowed that he would go back the next day. And the day after. And the day after that.

He would learn to play that incredible instrument.

No matter what.


	2. It is a light for the soul.

It was with a light heart that day that Harry brought his Aunt the note that Miss Lissa had given him. After dinner that night, he handed it to her. He watched as her lips pursed as she read it, and felt his heart sink. Aunt Petunia wouldn’t let him go again, he was sure; it was like she had said: freaks didn’t deserve anything nice, not like Dudley, not like normal people.

“Go to your cupboard!” she snapped nastily, her face sharp and unhappy, like she was sucking on a lemon. Harry hung his head and slipped into the comforting darkness of his cupboard.

He wouldn’t be allowed, he just knew it.

It wasn’t until his Aunt had ushered Dudley off to bed—the heavy footsteps and complaining had notified Harry of this—that he heard it.

“Vernon, think of it!”

It was his Aunt’s voice.

“I won’t have it, Pet, I won’t have it!” his Uncle said sharply.

“But think of it—if he’s focused on music, on learning to play, then we may be able to knock more of that freakishness out of him!” she hissed. His Uncle paused. “Not only that, but he can go into competitions; I’ve heard from the neighbors that winners can even receive money as a prize!”

There was a silence.

“Fine,” his Uncle grunted. “He can learn. But I’m not buying him one or paying for lessons.”

Harry pulled away from the crack of his door, a smile growing on his face. He could go! They would let him learn to play!

It was with a light and happy heart that Harry fell asleep that night.


	3. It lifts the heart.

Harry dashed to the room he had hidden from Dudley in, his feet sounding out an excited patter of sound. He came to a sharp stop in front of the shut door, panting, and knocked. The door opened, Miss Lissa smiling down at him.

“Here!” he said, handing her the note that Aunt Petunia had signed.

“Wonderful,” she said, holding the door open for him. “Why don’t we start?”

He turned to look at her as he entered, curious.

“You’ve learned the melody for Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, so why don’t we start on the harmony? And then I’ll test you tomorrow on it, okay?”

He nodded, walking carefully to the bench. That day he learned a lot—like the fact that the instrument he was learning to play was called a _piano_ , and that you played it with two hands, and he even learned about notes and started learning how to read sheet music!

Miss Lissa had given him a small red book of simple sheet music to practice reading, and said that even if he didn’t have a piano at home, he could always practice hearing the notes in his head.

That night, while he was locked in his cupboard, he pulled down the tiny pocket flashlight he had found in the garbage and turned in on, careful not to let any light shine on the door. He pulled out the book Miss Lissa had given him, and began to practice.

He wanted to do his very best—he would be the best piano player ever!


	4. It can be the most wondrous of escapes

Harry sat at the piano, playing one of the set pieces for a competition he was to compete in in three weeks. It was a relatively simple piece—Bach’s Minuet in G Major.

He had been playing for roughly six months, and Miss Lissa had finally said that he was ready to join a competition. She was running him through his paces, however, keeping him after school for an hour or more sometimes in preparation for the competition. When he had asked her if it was _really_ alright, she had just laughed and brushed it off, saying that she was happy to teach him.

His life at the Dursleys had gotten better; ever since Miss Lissa had started teaching him piano, Aunt Petunia had been giving him more food—he’d actually gotten a piece of toast with _jam_ on it, the other day!—and he had been punished less for things that before had been major infractions, such as singeing the bacon a bit.

Not only that, but Aunt Petunia had actually installed a light bulb in his cupboard so that he could read the sheet music Miss Lissa gave him!

Harry felt his face tighten as one of his fingers slipped, hitting an F natural where he was supposed to play an F sharp, but he ploughed on; Miss Lissa had told him that he was practicing _performing_ the piece right now, so he couldn’t stop and go back to correct his mistake. All he could do was to grit his teeth, mark where he made the mistake, and keep going.

It was _really hard_ , Harry thought, to do that. He instinctively wanted to go back and correct it, to make it clear that it was a mistake, but he couldn’t do that.

It was like Miss Lissa had told him: “Don’t stop. Even if you make a mistake, don’t stop. Keep smiling, and don’t stop. The only people who are going to know, are you, me, and the Judges. And maybe a few people in the audience who know a bit about the pieces. Don’t stop.”

And it made sense—keep going, pretend it never happened, and most people won’t even notice it did.

When they finally stopped, Harry’s hands _ached_ horribly, and Miss Lissa walked him through some exercises to help with the ache. She smiled down at him, and sent him on his way.

Harry nearly skipped all the way back to Number 4, exuberant.

He wouldn’t give it up, not for all the world.


	5. It drives passion and thrives off of it

Harry fidgeted back stage, dressed in a neat, crisp, white shirt and black dress pants, covered by a black dress jacket. A slim black tie settled around his neck, and he tugged at it nervously.

In just a few minutes, he would be on stage, in front of a huge crowd, ready to perform the set piece for the first round, Bach’s Minuet in G Major. He would sit down at the gorgeous piano on stage—a _Steinway & Sons_, it sounded absolutely _incredible_ —and he would place his hands on the keys. He would press down and draw the light, airy sounds from the instrument. He would play the piece, and he would play it the best that he could, with as few mistakes as possible.

He would make Miss Lissa proud of him, and when he finished, he would stand and bow, and they would clap. They would applaud him, and if he was really lucky he might get a hair ruffle from Miss Lissa afterwards.

And maybe, just maybe, Aunt Petunia would give him a smile, and Uncle Vernon would let him have more than just scraps that night.

Because he would do well. He would be one of the best, and he would make it to the final round. He had to believe that—because Uncle Vernon had told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be allowed to continue playing piano.

The music that sounded from the stage stopped, and the audience’s applause resounded through the walls. Eventually, it slowly stopped, and Harry took a deep breath. The girl who had been playing just before him smiled as she walked past him, her face red and sweaty, flushed with excitement and nerves and relief.

Harry walked on stage, and faced the audience. He dipped into a short, respectful bow, and settled into the piano bench, gently scooting it forward to compensate for his short arms.

He placed his sheet music on the stand, and placed his hands on the keys, feeling sweat trickle down his face from the heat of the stage lights, bright and hot above him. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, thinking of his goal briefly before clearing his mind of anything but the piano in front of him, and the music that he would be playing. Harry opened his eyes, emeralds flashing.

And he began to play.


	6. It is the soaring heights of joy…

Harry grinned as he sat tiredly on a bench outside of the concert hall. He was waiting for the results to be posted, relaxing and hoping for the best. His jacket was laid neatly beside him, and he leaned back as Miss Lissa sat down beside him, smiling broadly at him.

“You did wonderfully, Harry!” she congratulated him. He grinned bashfully back at her.

“Thanks, Miss Lissa!” he said, ducking his head to hide his reddening cheeks.

He thought back to when he had been on stage: it had all come so _easily_ , the notes had spilled from his fingers, flowing out and away like water, and he had been _lost_ in the music, unaware of the crowd and feeling so… _connected_ with _everything_.

It was like someone had reached out and taken his heart and mind and opened them up, letting him _feel_ everything around him.

He wasn’t sure he really had the words to describe it, and when he told Miss Lissa, she had merely smiled down at him and said, “I know what you mean, Harry. I know what you mean.”

They just sat there for a while, quietly enjoying each other’s company, before a voice sounded over the sound system.   
“The results for the first round are now posted. The results for the first round are now posted.”

The voice was static-y, and resounded sharply against Harry’s ears, but he didn’t care. He was up in a moment, and immediately moved towards the board where the results had been posted. He waited for the crowd around the slip of paper to clear before he stepped up to it, and looked for his name.

“What’s the news?” Miss Lissa asked, standing beside him.

He grinned up at her, feeling so light and happy and everything seemed brighter all of a sudden.

“I made it to the second round!”


End file.
